


to get, get on saint peters list

by spendon



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Slurs, Suicide mention, Violence, Young Blood Chronicles, Young Blood Chronicles Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spendon/pseuds/spendon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy smiled, not a friendly or excited one, hell, not even a smug smile, but more so a knowing smile, and Patrick really didn't feel good about this. His blood felt like it was icing up with worry, trying to distract himself with the words, but already he was tripping over his own tongue, panic coursing through his veins, watching as he slowly lifted up a boombox, a way too familiar boombox. Patrick tasted metal in his mouth.<br/>  Pete's already on it, yelling into his mic, "you put that radio down or so help me god I will take it from you."<br/>  But it's too late, the sudden silence with bits of chatter here and there being filled with the sound of a tune Patrick really hoped he would forget. He turned to Pete as hazel-blue eyes turned an alarmingly vibrant yellow color, a snarl ripping out of his throat loud and harsh, into the mic, so the entire crowd could hear.<br/>   "We gotta go," Pete shouted again, quickly, and Patrick's storming across the stage, coming at the bassist with a face that only reads killkillkillkillkill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to get, get on saint peters list

  Wires crossed the floor, connected to amplifiers and microphone stands, sounds bouncing back from the back of the theatre all the way to the stage, accompanied by the sound of screaming fans all around the theatre. Patrick watched the crowd with a smile as he sang, fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar. Joe smiled at him from the other side of the stage, nodding his head to Patrick as they finished up their seventh set. Patrick nodded back, pulling the mic off of its stand, wiping sweat off of his forehead with his other hand, sucking in a breath through his teeth, flickering his gaze amongst the crowd.

  "Wow, you guys are _really_ energetic tonight," he laughed softly, shooting a backwards glance to Andy over his shoulder. "Like, you all look way more psyched to see us than we are you. But trust me, I think I'm just a little more pumped."

  He listened as several people screamed from behind the barricade, laughing again, trying to make out the both foul, lewd and kind, encouraging words amongst the midst of ecstatic screaming that they yelled out at him and his partners. Patrick adjusted his hat, grin splitting his face. "Wow, just ... wow. Anyways, uh, here's our next song, if you've been listening to our latest album, you'll know that it's called Young Volcanoes."

  More shouts of delight chorused from the crowd as they all began yelling out the words in near unison. Patrick scanned the group at the barricade again, one boy with long curly hair, who didn't seem to be doing anything, catching his attention. He looked almost ... familiar to him. He raised a brow, sending a semi-concerned look to Pete, who only shrugged at him like his worries were meaningless and continued playing.

  The boy smiled, not a friendly or excited one, hell, not even a smug smile, but more so a knowing smile, and Patrick really didn't feel good about this. His blood felt like it was icing up with worry, trying to distract himself with the words, but already he was tripping over his own tongue, panic coursing through his veins, watching as he slowly lifted up a boombox, a way too familiar boombox. Patrick tasted metal in his mouth.

  Pete's already on it, yelling into his mic, "you put that radio down or so help me god I will take it from you."

  But it's too late, the sudden silence with bits of chatter here and there being filled with the sound of a tune Patrick really hoped he would forget. He turned to Pete as hazel-blue eyes turned an alarmingly vibrant yellow color, a snarl ripping out of his throat loud and harsh, into the mic, so the entire crowd could hear.

  "We gotta go," Pete shouted again, quickly, and Patrick's storming across the stage, coming at the bassist with a face that only reads _killkillkillkillkill_.

  Joe dropped his guitar on the stage as Andy stood from his drum set. He bolted towards Patrick from behind, trying to grab him, but the older man easily shrugged him off, sending him sprawling to the ground with a loud _thud_. He winced, praying that he'll live to see his wife and baby daughter, and bandmates again, scrambling to his feet. Blue eyes watch the off-stage security search for the boy whom was in possession of the boombox, but he had disappeared as quickly as he had been spotted, seemingly having vanished into thin air.

  Joe raised his eyes to the sight of Patrick walking towards him now, grabbing his guitar and holding it up like a fucking weapon. He yelled to the crowd to get the fuck out, though only a portion actually listened to the guitarist.

  _Stop_ , Patrick thought, _please, stop! Stop hurting trying to hurt him! He's one of my best friends!_ But the monster inside him was trained to kill, and get the case, trained to ignore Patrick's own mind. That was all.

  Suddenly, he felt a pair of muscular arms make their way around his waist, lifting him off of the floor and carrying him backstage. The scent that flooded his nostrils is Andy's; he can easily recognize the smell of his deodorant. Pete walked a good distance ahead of him, opening the door to his dressing room, an expression of fear, all wide eyes and bitten lips, displayed on his face. Patrick felt sick to his stomach. Despite all of Patrick's squirming and kicking, he was at no prevail of escaping the drummer's grasp. Pete closed the door behind Andy as he carried Patrick into the room, locking it from the outside.

  "Put me _down_ , you _fucktard_ ," Patrick growled, the slur burning in his mouth. Andy could only wince, tightening his grip around the singer, knowing that he needed to keep him in place until he could calm down a little. The frontman twisted and squirmed in the drummer's arms, kicking at Andy's shins and batting at his chest with his hands balled up into fists. He snapped his teeth at his friend, though really, he was making no actual move to do any damage. His kicks and punches are petty, the only harmful things that did real damage were spilling out of his mouth through words that dripped with a paralyzing venom.

  "I'm going to fucking kill you," he spat, ice hidden behind the golden, burning flames in his irises, "with the very same gun, that you stared at in your home. The gun you wanted to blow your brains out with, oh yes, that one, Andy. Remember that? When you wanted to _kill yourself_?" Patrick drawled out the words, a smirk playing on his face. "The band was still separated at the time, you thought it was your fault, you thought it would be worth it to ... eradicate yourself, correct?" He laughed when Andy winced, laughed at the pain in his brown eyes, at his toy. His _play thing_.

  "You should've done it," Patrick said flatly, grinning ear to ear as he felt calloused fingers tighten a grip on his skin and clothes, knowing it was cracking through Andy's shell. "Because nobody would've cared, we would've replaced you. I could replace you, even now, if I wanted to. It's that easy to eliminate the most worthless member of a band."

  "Patrick," Andy whispered, "come on, Patrick, I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Come out."

  "I'm right here," he cackled, leaning his face in close to Andy's, "I'm right fucking here, _buddy_." The term was no longer a term of friendship, but an insult, twisting the definition around to levels of hatred.

  "Do you really think anyone in this band actually _cares_ about you?" He dragged on, sneering. "You're only in this band because I can't sing, drum, and play guitar a the same time. You're only here because if you left now, we'd lose so many fans, Andy." The singer didn't seem to care at all, in truth, only giving transparent concerns for the fan base. Patrick writhed again in Andy's grip, sneer turning to smirk as he fingers tighten on him once more, knowing this time that the pressure would leave possible bruises on his arms. He laughed, laughed in Andy's face, at his snowmelt anger. He was making the pacifist's skin crawl, just like he had intended to.

  "Hurt me, Andy, hurt me," he pleaded, the fake smile he offered spreading widely across his face. Patrick waited.

  "No, Patrick."

  "Hurt me!" he shouted, batting his fists at the other's chest again. His voice faltered, turning wavery as Andy watched vibrant, yellow-green eyes face back into the normal blue-green ones that he had missed. They welled up with tears as Andy let go of him. Patrick sunk down to the floor, curling in on himself.

  "Patrick... " Andy murmured, kneeling down in front of his band mate.

  "Andy, I'm sorry," Patrick said, gasping for breaths in between sobs. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean any of that, oh god."

  "I know," he replied, leaning forward to pull Patrick once more into his grasp - instead of holding him tightly as not to let him escape, rather, he was hugging him, rubbing a hand soothingly up his back. "Pete and Joe are okay, just so you know. I think Joe's a little shaken up, but Pete's right outside."

  " _Fuck_ , Joe, I have to apologize to him, too - the show, fuck, fuck, fuck, Andy, I fucked this whole thing up, I'm so sorry."

  "It's not your fault."

  "God, Andy! And we had to stop in the _middle_ of a concert because I'm still this disgusting mess of monster and human, all thanks to one stupid fucking song. How many of the people out there have already left?! Oh man, and people are going to call me crazy - they're right, but this is going to put us in a hell hole, fuck."

  "Patrick - " "I can't go back out there, Andy. We need to cancel the show, please, I can't do it. Not tonight, not after that."

  "We have just a few more sets to do, are you sure you can't make it? Do you want Pete to reschedule the concert?"

  "No, but," Patrick nodded, trembling. "I can't go out there, though, Andy."

  "It's okay," Andy said, letting go of the singer as he rose to his feet. "I'll get you some water in a bit. Stay here, lie down - just, relax, okay?" The drummer then left Patrick alone in his dressing room. Patrick could hear him talking to Pete, who had remained outside the door, in hushed tones. He listened to their grouped footsteps disappearing into the distance, and then returning shortly afterwards.

  Andy stepped back into the room, crouching down in front of Patrick. He handed him the water bottle from his calloused fingers, peering at him through caring, hazel eyes. He combed his fingers through Patrick's dirty blond hair, whispering comforting things before giving him the news of his, Pete, and Joe's decision.

  "Pete says he thinks you can do it. We all can. The boy is gone, Patrick." Patrick clucked his tongue, staring down at his feet after a few furious sips of water. He closed the bottle, giving a faint nod.

  "Okay," he promised, taking Andy's hand as he stood up. "I - we can do this."


End file.
